


Blood On My Hands, Ice In My Veins, Monsters Beneath My Skin (But That's Just Me)

by Paranoixa



Category: Brave (2012), Disney Princesses, Frozen (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, F/F, Homophobic Language, Loneliness, Loss of Control, Pining Elsa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 12:58:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12366297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paranoixa/pseuds/Paranoixa
Summary: Jealousy is a weird thing.It doesn't quite lure out the cold like anger, anxiety, and happiness do. It makes it lay directly beneath the skin, waiting to push through the thin layer like magma waiting to burst through the earth's surface. My gloves are practically useless against the fierce emotion, so I've taken to wearing an extra pair. Still. It's terrifying to know my already fragile control of the cold is slipping because of something as simple as Naveen loaning Merida a rubber band to tie her hair with.(Elsa has a crush on Merida. She's not at all struggling with it, and if anyone asks, she has absolutely no idea what caused the lunchroom to explode.)





	Blood On My Hands, Ice In My Veins, Monsters Beneath My Skin (But That's Just Me)

"I'm not a stalker."

It's what I want to say to Mr. Hunt, my Advanced Art teacher, when he flips through the pages of my sketchbook. I want to tell him, "It's the same as when people sketch strangers in the park. It's not creepy at all." I want to explain how "not creepy and not weird" the sketches are and how he, as an artistic individual, has no place to judge another individual's artwork.

But I can't. Instead, I quickly snatch the offending, brown sketchbook from his hands. "Sorry. Wrong book", I stutter. I reach into my satchel and pull out my black sketchbook. Then, my attention on his dress shoes, I hand it to him. "Uh, this is-this is the right one."

Mr. Hunt tentatively opens my sketchbook, slowly flipping through the pages. He looks up upon finding the assignment due today and nods, his expression blank. He takes a moment to scrutinize it, then, making sure to face the cover towards me, scribbles something at the bottom of the page. Beneath my desk, my feet tap anxiously, and I accept my book with shaky hands.  
"Well done", Mr. Hunt says. "There's room for improvement, but, as a rough draft, it's not off to a bad start." His eyes drop to my satchel, and he raises an eyebrow in question.

"I'm not a stalker." The words are on my lips. I can taste them, can feel them gathering at the tip of my tongue, eager to gracefully glide out of my mouth and into Mr. Hunt's ears. But I've never been a girl of many words, much less grace, so I duck my head, murmur a quick "Thank you". I flip to an empty page in my sketchbook, making a quick note at the top to review his notes, and begin to draw a circle.

Mr. Hunt makes a low noise in his throat and walks towards the front of the classroom. "I have to say, guys", he announces to us. "Last night's assignment went better than expected. Instead of only receiving eight shitty sketches, I received thirteen not as shitty sketches. Out of twenty-six."

A few boys at the front of the room snicker, and some girls beside me roll their eyes. I look back down at my page and give my circle some eyes. My fingers ache for a blue pencil, but I focus on the eyelashes, and the need quickly fades.

"Guys, Advanced Art is a privilege", Mr. Hunt is saying, his voice exasperated. "And any privilege-"  
"Can be taken away", one of the boys in the front interrupts. The sneer in the statement instantly tells me it's Hans. I draw in on myself and begin to trace over my eyes, only stopping when the paper begins to wear thin.

Mr. Hunt glares. "Yes. Especially to those who seem to think taking an Advanced class is more important than actually passing an Advanced class."

Hans crosses his arms and glares back, but he doesn't say anything.

"I expect more", Mr. Hunt says. "Each and everyone of you is an exceptional artist capable of great things." His eyes flicker to mine, and I pierce through my eye with the lead of my pencil. "But only the best belong in this class, and the best artists are the ones willing to put in the effort."

The bell for lunch sounds overhead, and everyone scrambles to gather their things. Mr. Hunt sighs, raking his left hand through his hair. "The second draft for your surrealism portraits are due Tuesday", he said, taking a seat at his desk.

I quickly scoop my stuff into my satchel and speed-walk to the door. I'm halfway through the doorway when I hear Mr. Hunt call my name. My hands turn stiff from the ice settling over them, and I shove them into my pockets without hesitation. Just breathe, and it'll go away, I tell myself as I turn and slowly walk back to his desk.

He leans forward, a knowing look in his eyes. "Has she seen the sketches", he asks, his voice low.

My eyes widen, and I instinctively shrug my satchel behind my shoulder. "No", I whisper. "And I'm not a stalker. In case you were wondering", I say, but I'm already out the door and halfway down the corridor when I finally say this.

. . .

We have one class together. That class, coincidentally, happens to be Physical Education. Merida, the girl who played kickball with the fourth-graders when the other first-graders opted to draw, is the poster-child for loud and boisterous jocks. She dominates at any and every sport, excels at the Fitnessgram (shattering the state record for each portion every year), and never hesitates to lend a hand when one (or six) of us collapses from exhaustion.

And then there's me. To Coach MacGuffin's dismay, I hide beneath the bleachers whenever I can sneak off during roll call and, when I can't, keep at least an eleven foot distance from myself and the rest of the class. It strangles my grade, but I've been sent to the infirmary enough times to discourage too much participation.

I'm scurrying toward my spot underneath the bleachers, my copy of Romiette and Julio in hand, when MacGuffin's voice suddenly rings out:

"Elsa Verglas, don't even think of sneaking off."  
I freeze in my movements and hide my book behind my back. "I wasn't going to", I say quietly.

"Good", he returns, his eyes suspicious. "You're on the Blue Team."

I scowl but nonetheless lay my book down on a patch of grass outside of the playing field. The Blue Team, comprised of Jasmine, Eric, Ariel, John, and Naveen, gives me somewhat disgruntled looks as I shuffle over to them. Across from us stands the Red Team: Pocahontas, Snow, Henry, Hans, Adam, and Merida. A sharp, sudden ache begins in my chest, and we're walking to our opposing sides of the field when I finally realize it's the beating of my heart.

Obviously.

"All right, teams", MacGuffin shouts. He balances a soccer ball on his hip and tosses it into the air. Up, down. Up, down. The sphere rotates, black and white mixing into a blur, and I'm dizzy. There's no denying the sudden dip in the temperature, but we're halfway through October, so it could just be the weather. "Today, it's three games of soccer", MacGuffin continues. "The winning team gets an extra granola bar and Gatorade."

Sounds of affirmation and cheer arise around me. Merida's eyes light up, and she turns to her team to whisper something to them. Naveen turns to me, his expression unimpressed as he takes in my pale legs and scrawny figure and sighs.

"Ah", he starts. "Just stick to the back. We'll cover the rest."  
I draw my hair up into a ponytail and roll up my socks. "Okay."

He nods then begins to address the team, droning on about pitching, fouls, indirect free kicks, and other terms that eventually blend together to the point of incomprehension. I redirect my attention to Merida, who's making rapid hand gestures and mimicking kicking with fierce enthusiasm. My fingers are twitching, and I'm thinking of the type of pencil I'd used to capture the veins that are no doubt protruding from her neck.

Not a stalker, not a stalker, not a stalker...

A whistle sounds, and our teams rush each other. I take a step back, but Jasmine gives me a look as she guards our net, so I begin a slight jog across the field. Ice creeps up my ankles like a chilling slug, and I whisper a quick "Thank you" to Humphrey for introducing me to tube socks.

Eric gives the ball a swift kick, and it starts in the direction of the the Red Team's goal. Adam and Merida huff and each race after the sphere, frantically kicking until it eventually goes off course and takes a left. Naveen sprints towards them, dirt flying off the ground as he dashes down the field.

I manage to maintain a safe distance from the actual game for a solid ten minutes before MacGuffin eventually notices. He turns to glare at me and blows his whistle. Everyone halts. The ball comes to a stop, neglected, and Merida, Naveen, and Adam collapse into a pile of limbs and big hair.

"Everyone participates", MacGuffin says with a pointed glare in my direction. "If not, the team loses points. Pass the ball if you want to win. Regroup! We start in two minutes."

Both teams groan and reluctantly form a circle. I linger on the outfields, watching as my teammates throw me annoyed glances until Naveen eventually waves me over. We've definitely lost a few degrees, and it's drastic enough for me to rule out the change in season as a possibility. Jasmine and Ariel step aside to let me join the circle, and a moment passes before John clears his throat.

"All right. Do you know how to play", he asks.

I shake my head.

"Okay. Right." He rolls up his sleeves and nods to himself. "You can play goalie."

Jasmine looks up, crossing her arms indignantly. "I'm playing goalie", she reminds him with narrowed eyes.

John shrugs and starts towards the end of the field. "You can guard in the second game."  
She frowns and turns to look at me. "Can you even block?"  
"Leave it alone, Jaz", Ariel mutters. She starts after John, and the rest of the team quickly disperses to different spaces on the field. I jog over to the Blue net and adjust my stance so that I'm leaning forward. MacGuffin rolls the soccer ball onto the field and, after it ceases movement, blows his whistle.

Goalkeeping is terrifying. Everyone's rushing towards me with furious eyes and intense determination. My eyes keep trailing after the ball, captivated as it glides over the trampled grass, and I perturbedly await the moment when someone launches it off the ground and towards my head. 

And as much as I'd hate for it to be true, it'll likely be Merida because Merida is a beast.

A calculating, majestic beast blazing across the field with an intensity that makes my knees buckle. John and Jasmine stumble after her when she steals the ball from them and starts in my direction. I sink my feet further into the ground and edge closer to the center of the net.

"Elsa!", John yells, his face sweaty and red. "Get ready!"

Merida draws her left knee back, her arms stretching out like a tree, and the ball races towards me. I blindly thrust my foot out and, miraculously, stop it from entering our net. The kick was awkward, though, only narrowly colliding with the ball, so it doesn't travel more than a few feet. Jasmine rolls her eyes and swiftly kicks it towards Eric. Adam rushes forward and delivers his own kick. It bounces off his feet and into the air. Merida's eyes travel northward, determined, and she jumps after the ball. She rotates like an elegant ice skater, kicks the ball, and sends it back towards me. She's just fallen back to the earth by the time the ball slams into my forehead and sends me tumbling to the ground.

. . .

Nurse Merryweather's expression is the physical embodiment of the reaction every teacher has upon hearing, "My dog ate my homework". It's not a sight I particularly enjoy waking up to, and the blatant displeasure within her eyes is a literal reflection of how mutual the feeling is.

"Ah. You're awake", she sighs, placing a damp, grey rag over my forehead.

My head is lolling, and, despite lying down, I feel like I'm falling. I shut my eyes and cover them with my left hand. It doesn't help. "What happened", I croak.

"The usual, from what your little friend told me. Soccer ball to the head. You've got quite a nasty bump", Merryweather says tiredly.

"How nasty?"  
"Nasty enough to excuse you from the rest of your classes." She moves the rag to my neck and hums quietly. "But not enough to give you any real trouble. At least it wasn't your eye this time", she consoles.

I manage a small smirk and open my fingers to peer at her through the spaces between. "Thanks."  
"It's no trouble, sweetheart." Nurse Merryweather stands and walks over to her desk. It's crowded with papers, books stuffed with sticky notes, and discarded coffee cups. She reaches for a clipboard and begins scribbling something down. "I just hate seeing you like this."

"I hate feeling like this", I murmur.

"Well, it could be worse. A lot of schools don't have infirmaries. Consider yourself lucky."

My eyes drift towards a pamphlet titled "Sex and My Body" attached to a rusted cabinet. The cover features a cartoon boy and girl blushing and holding each other with a box of what I presume to be condoms. Four thin strips of tape are attached to the corners of the pamphlet, but three of them must have lost their adhesion cause it's dangling off the cabinet rather pathetically. It won't take much more than a random gust of wind to send it gliding to the floor, and then who'll warn us about the dangers of our bodies? And let's not forget about our state of the art medical equipment: the annually-sent first aid kit sitting precariously on a stool, two lumpy cots with stains predating the Great Depression, and a water cooler that never seems to have any water.

We are so lucky.

My thoughts must be projecting across my face cause Nurse Merryweather rolls her eyes. The door to the small room opens then, and she smiles. "Ah. Your friend's back", she announces. "Thank you, dear."  
"No problem, Nurse M.", a cheery voice replies.

My hands stiffen with frost, and the falling sensation returns. I look towards the door and watch as Merida enters the room, a styrofoam cup between her fingers. She kneels beside my cot and offers me the cup. My stomach feels empty yet full, and my ears feel like they've been stuffed with cotton candy. She cocks her head to the side, seemingly sensing my hesitation, and her lips peel back into a broad smile.

"Come on, just take it", she urges. "I promise it's not poisoned. I even got it from the good water fountain."

"Drink", Merryweather advises. "It'll help."

I slowly raise to a seating position and, idly noting my pinky brushing against Merida's, accept the cup. The water cools upon contact with my lips, and I savor the shiver it sends down my spine. I look up and smile gratefully. "Thanks."

Merida shrugs and leans against my cot. She looks at my forehead and whistles. "Quite the bump you got there."

I stare into my cup. "I've heard." Then, looking up between my bangs, I ask, "How bad is it?"  
"It's a little red. It should go down in a few days, though. Guaranteed", she promises with a wave of her hand.

"I know. This isn't the first time I've been hit."

"Right."

The intercom above me crackles, and I wince.

"Nurse Merryweather", a high-pitched voice sounds. "Please report to room 206."

Merryweather sighs. "My job is never done", she says. She walks to the door, her blue dress rippling with each step. "I called your parents, Elsa", she calls over her shoulder. "They said they'll try to pick you up in thirty minutes; that was about twenty minutes ago, so they should be here soon. Until then, just sit tight."

The door closes, and then it's just Merida and I.

I raise my cup to my lips and quickly down the rest of my water.

Merida stands and leans against Merryweather's desk. A few sheets of paper fall to the floor, but she doesn't move to retrieve them.

"If it helps", she begins. "Your team won."

I pull my knees close to my chest and look down. "Really?"  
"Yeah. It was crazy. You got hit, and everyone was spazzing, but Jazz, well, you know, Jazz. She saw an opportunity and took it and, what do you know? Y'all won!"

I smile. "And all it took was a soccer ball to the head."

Merida rolls her eyes and chuckles.

The sound fills my chest with warmth, and I find myself leaning forward to hear it more clearly.

"Oh!" She reaches into her sweatshirt pocket and pulls out something. It's my book. "I think this is yours", she says, handing it to me. "John found it, and he figured you'd want to finish it." She shrugs the bag dangling from her arm off her shoulder, and it's only then that I realize it's my satchel. "And your bag. Some girls have been snatching people's stuff out the locker room so." She hands that to me as well.

I take them into my hands and stare at the cover of my book. There's a dirty footprint on it, but I just brush it off with the back of my hand. Then I look up. "Thank you."

"It's nothing. So your folks are picking you up", Merida asks. She bring her legs up onto the desk and crosses them.

"Ah." I reach for my rag and tug at the loose threads. "Sort of."

She nods. "Ya gonna elaborate on that?"

The threads begin to snap and carelessly sink through the air. One lands on my knee, and the other disappears in the pattern of my cot. My fingers go back to pulling, and I mumble, "They're out of town. Business trip. My butler's probably coming to get me."

Merida raises an eyebrow. "Butler?"  
I flush scarlet and begin to stutter out a response when the bell over us suddenly sounds.

"I guess you have to go", I say, deflating slightly.

She shrugs. "Not necessarily. This is my free period, so I don't have to be anywhere."  
"Oh, okay. Humphrey-my butler- is probably outside by now, though, so I should get going."

"Mm. Mind if I walk you?"

"Um. Okay. If you're sure."  
"Positive. Come on." She extends her hand and helps me out of my cot. The warmth in her hands startles me, so hot that a lasting shock spreads throughout me; the concern in her eyes tells me she's experiencing a similar reaction from the iciness in my own hands. I duck my head and walk towards the door.

"We going or not", I ask, pushing the door open.

Merida nods, and we walk out the door. The halls are lively and bustling with students scrambling to retrieve things from their lockers. A few heads turn in our direction, but no one gives us any trouble aside from a few confused glances.

Merida chatters the entire way about the rest of the game, and I hang onto every word like a koala cub clinging to its mother's back. There's, obviously, not much I can add to the conversation, but it's nice talking to her.

Humphrey's Lincoln is parked in front of Elite High's entrance. He's standing beside the car, and he opens the door when he sees Merida and I walk out of the school.

"That the butler", Merida asks as we start towards him.

"Uh huh."  
"He looks nice." She waves enthusiastically, and, after a moment's hesitation, he waves back.

"He is." We stop in front of the Lincoln, and I toss my backpack inside. "Hey, Humphrey. Thanks for coming."

"It was no trouble." He turns to Merida then. "Hello, miss", he greets, reaching for her hand. "Are you a friend of Elsa's?"  
Merida nods, and I dig my nails into my palms to prevent my fingertips from spewing out icicles. "Yeah. I'm Merida. Nice to meet you."  
"And you as well. I'm Humphrey. I work for the Verglas family. Thank you for looking after Elsa."  
"Ah, well. I don't mind helping. She's good people."  
"I'd sure hope so."

I groan and cover my eyes with my hand.

Something buzzes then, and Merida reaches into her pocket. She pulls out her phone and quickly scans over it. She looks up and roughly claps me against the back. "I gotta jet", she says and starts walking back towards the school. "Hans took Tiana's sneakers again and won't give him back. Feel better, okay? And put some ice on that bump."  
"I will. And Merida?"  
She turns and looks back at me. I bite my lip and quietly say, "Thanks."  
Merida beams. "Anytime, Elsa." She turns around again, then jogs back into the school.

Humphrey and I crawl into the Lincoln. He starts the car, and the vents immediately exhale cold air as he makes a turn and starts down the street.

I reach into my satchel and pull out my sketchbook. My hands shake as Merida's eyes burst through the page, and I have to remind myself to breathe as I systematically review our conversation.

A thin coating of frost begins to settle over the headrests and dashboard, but Humphrey pretends he doesn't notice, and I'm too engrossed in my sketching to really care anyway.

"You left your gloves", he tells me, taking a left turn towards Main Street.

"I know."

"Anything...unusual happen?"

I glance down at Merida and sink back into the seat, savoring the feel of cool leather against my bare legs. I lean my head back and let my eyes fall shut. "Not really."

. . .

I don't check my email until after I've taken a shower and eaten a bowl of Cookie Dough Ice Cream. There are eleven new emails from colleges I've never heard of, two from a bakery I hate, and one from Merida. I sit up in my bed and open Merida's. The others are quickly sent to the trash.

A cat with a thermostat in its mouth greets me. Above it, the glittery caption "Get well soon!" dances across the screen.

The hair on my arms freezes solid like a field of translucent toothpicks, and my laptop's screen shatters. "Shoot", I whisper with a wince. 

The cracks are a bit off putting, but the laptop's still semi-functional. I spend the rest of the night browsing Google images until I find a dumb picture of a kitten sleeping in a teacup. I add a border of cookies, print it out, rush down to the computer room, retrieve it from the printer tray, and seal it in an envelope. I have Humphrey drive me to school early just so I can slip it into the top of Merida's locker without worrying about people watching me. It smells like sweaty socks, trees, and, oddly enough, smoked turkey. It's not entirely unpleasant, and I probably would have stayed there if the janitor hadn't threatened to have me sent to Principal Triton's office.

The incident leaves me unsettled for the rest of the day, and I've just about decided leaving the picture in the first place was juvenile and idiotic when I take a seat in Art and find a sticker of an ocelot on my desk.

Mr. Hunt has us watch another documentary on surrealism, but I spend most of class sketching bushy-haired nekos and craving Subway.

. . .

After a week of these cat exchanged, she sits by me at lunch.

Her decision catches me off guard, and I'm not entirely sure what to say at first, so we sit in silence for the first half of lunch. Then she turns to me and draws a pair of whiskers on my cheeks. I freeze, not blinking and unmoving, and raise my gloved fingers to my cheeks. Then I look at Merida. A moment passes before we both burst into laughter before launching into a conversation about Animal Planet.

Everyone looks at me oddly, but I leave the whiskers on for the remainder of the day.

. . .

Having a friend is nice.

I still sit in the back of the lunchroom, but my empty table doesn't feel as lonely with Merida by my side. Halfway through lunch, she leaves Cindy, Eric, Phillip, Naveen, and Tiana to come sit by me, and I have to fight to stop my face from being sliced open by the smile spreading across it. Every so often, she'll try to convince me to join her table, but I always say no. They've never openly admitted it, but the heated glares they send me when Merida walks me to my locker or gives me the extra pack of M&Ms the vending spat out say enough.

But it's fine. I prefer it when it's just the two of us anyway.

It's Friday, and I'm reading Night. Ten minutes remain in the lunch period, and Merida has yet to arrive. I look towards her table and find her still seated with her friends. Naveen says something to her, twirling his spoon in the air. A blob of lumpy mashed potatoes flies off his spoon and lands on her face. Merida snorts, shoulders bouncing vigorously. She scoops the blob off her face, examines it for a moment, then smears it across his neck. They both lean over, Naveen slamming his fist against the table and Merida holding her head in her hand. The others roll their eyes and shake their heads as mashed potatoes continue to fly across the table, ducking periodically to avoid being hit.

Having a friend is nice, I decide, but I don't particularly like sharing that friend. Especially not with shitheads like Naveen.

The page I'm on rips right down the middle, and I drop it on the table to prevent any further damage. I look at my hands and consider it a small miracle that I remembered to wear my gloves today. Then, I look up and see Naveen watching me. His eyes dart away but not before he gives me a smug smirk. My gloves expand with cold air, and my hair bristles.

I definitely don't like sharing.

When we go to gym, I linger in the locker room with Merida. Usually, I rush to get changed; the doors to the stalls were ripped off years ago, so there's little to stop the other girls from gawking at the pulsing blue veins imprinted on my skin. But Merida and I have barely spoken today, and it's left me skittish and a bit bold.

I pull my faded blue shirt over my head, then scan the room for Merida. She's sitting on the sink, giggling at something Ariel's said. She's only pulled her joggers on up to her thighs, and she's not wearing a shirt. She stretches her arms upward, sighing in relief when the bones in her back let out a resounding crack. Black blurbs dance along my field of vision, and I pretend to tie my shoes until they fade away. Then I stand and walk over to them.

Ariel stiffens when she sees me approach and gives me a curt nod. "Hey, Elsa", she greets.

"Hey, Ariel." I shuffle my feet awkwardly and turn to Merida. Her back's pressed up against the wall, her left knee is raised in an inverted V, and she's massaging the back of her neck. 

Some of the best paintings are of naked ladies, a voice supplies, and I feel my cheeks warm substantially. I clear my throat and crawl onto the sink as well. A puddle of water from the violent faucet soaks my pants leg, but I don't acknowledge it.

"Any idea what we're doing today", I ask.

Merida shrugs. Her hands move to pick at some lint on her pants. "Basketball, I think", she says. She smiles and eagerly taps her feet against the porcelain sink.

"Excited", Ariel asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, yes. Naveen was talking all kinds of shit at lunch, and I cannot wait to put him in his place."

My lips tighten, but I don't say anything.

Ariel, though, seems to be amused. She elbows Merida and gives her a knowing look. "You and Naveen, huh."  
Merida groans and hops off the sink. "Ugh, don't start that nonsense again."  
"What nonsense", I interject, leaning forward.

Merida reaches for her shirt and rolls her eyes. "Nothing, El." She brings her hands up to put a few curls back in place and shakes out her hands. Pulling up her pants, she grabs me by my forearm, then leads me out the locker room.

"So you and Naveen are friends", I continue as we walk into the sunlight and onto the field. The sun's glare is overpowering, and I raise my hand to block it. The grass squishes like a moldy sponge beneath our feet, and I'm suddenly grateful that we'll be trading the muddy field for rough concrete today.

"Eh, sort of. He's a bit of a dick, but he's good people when you get to know him."

I nod like I understand, but I'm more focused on the first half of the sentence than the second. 

"Ooh, a smile during gym? I must have caught you on a good day", Merida quips, giving my shoulders a good shake before she takes off towards the court. A few boys have gathered in a circle beneath the nets. Coach MacGuffin stands in the center of them, loud and demanding as an air raid siren.

"Get into your teams", he says as the remainder of us joins them. "We're only playing two rounds today. Winner gets a whole dollar."  
"Wow", John says dryly. "If we split it evenly, we each get 16 cents."  
"Watch the sass, Smith. Take three minutes to plan."

Naveen turns and examines me carefully.

"Everyone has to participate", I remind him.

"I know", he says with a glower. His hands clench at his sides, and he shoves them into his pockets. I bend over to pull up my socks. Everyone else pretends not to notice the exchange.

"All right, everybody", Eric interrupts with a clap of his hands. "Girls, not to be sexist, but how many of you can play?"  
"Saying 'not to be sexist' doesn't make it any less sexist", Jasmine says, hands on her hips.

"All right. Can you play?"  
She hesitates, her eyes stormy. "No."  
"My point exactly then."  
I giggle, ducking my head when she shoots me a malign stare.

"Look, just make sure the Blues don't get the ball", Eric sighs. He presses the bridge of his nose. We've been hearing Jasmine's rants since before we could write. There's no real venom in her words, but it's gotten to be a real bother after a decade of them. "If they try to take it, just smack it out of their hands. It's that simple."  
"Yeah, wouldn't want to give the ladies anything too difficult to handle", Jasmine mutters. She turns and saunters over to the Coach.

Eric begins to protest, his face red and indignant, when Coach blows his whistle.

I look behind him and spot Merida rushing across the pavement. I smile and offer a little wave, pleased when she waves back. A moment later, Adam shoves me to the ground and says, "Hustle, Verglas." I fall onto my butt and glare as he dribbles the basketball against the ground towards our net.

We lose. Badly. I don't pay attention to the score, but it's bad enough to make John cringe and Naveen furiously toss the basketball into the street. Merida chuckles and rests her hand against her belly. It's a small and likely temporary victory, both for and against me, but I welcome it nonetheless.

Later, Merida tosses her arm over my shoulder as we head towards the locker room. Naveen scowls at me, and I give a little finger wave in return.

It's been a good day.

. . .

Jealousy is a weird thing.

It doesn't quite lure out the cold like anger, anxiety, and happiness do. It makes it lay directly beneath the skin, waiting to push through the thin layer like magma waiting to burst through the earth's surface. My gloves are practically useless against the fierce emotion, so I've taken to wearing an extra pair. Still. It's terrifying to know my already fragile control of the cold is slipping because of something as simple as Naveen loaning Merida a rubber band to tie her hair with.

Appropriately, Mr. Hunt has us spend the entire class drawing feelings. It's more difficult than I imagined, but I enjoy it more than I thought I would. My pencil flies across my paper lividly, thick, harsh trails of lead stretching across the paper. I've already ruined a few sheets, so I should be more careful, but I'm still thinking about that stupid rubber band and the trust in Merida's eyes when Naveen pulled her hair back into a ponytail.

And I hate it.

"Elsa?"

My pencil cracks and falls onto my desk. I inhale sharply and look up. Mr. Hunt's watching me, his eyes concerned.

"Everything okay", he asks. His voice is laced with apprehension. I flush as I realize how I must have looked frantically turning my snowy canvas into a stormy sky.

"Yeah", I squeak. "I just, uh, you know, really like this assignment."

He nods slowly. "Uh huh. And what feeling is...that?"

My hands fall to rest in my lap. Ice settles over my thighs, and I wince. Two pairs of gloves is definitely not enough. If the sweat-inducing fabric weren't so overbearing, I'd ask Humphrey to send off for another set. "Nothing", I say shortly.

Mr. Hunt holds his hands up. "Just asking", he replies. He glances towards my sketchbook, the brown one, the one I inanely left on my desk. One of these days, someone's going to snatch it, and it won't be anyone's fault but my own.

I'm sitting in Chemistry later, steadying my beaker of water as John pours a test tube of liquid nitrogen into it when the stream suddenly freezes over. My beaker slips from my fingers and crashes against the floor, and my hands come up to cover my mouth.

"Whoa", John asks, eyes wide. "That wasn't supposed to happen, right?"  
I'm too focused on the mess at my feet to reply. My veins feel thick and hot, and my arms are itching. John discreetly takes a step away from me and waves Mrs. Fauna over. She scowls when she sees the shattered glass and sends me to Principal's Triton's office. He drawls on for a while, chastising me for being reckless and inconsiderate of school supplies, before sending me off to lunch.

By the time I walk into the lunchroom, everyone's already finished eating and is either ardently gossiping or feverishly completing their homework. I scamper over to my usual spot and sink into a seat, struggling to still my shaking hands. My head is pressed against the sticky table, and I'm trying some breathing exercises Humphrey taught me when footsteps approach.

Merida, I think with a relieved sigh. Just the person I need. I look up and blankly stare ahead.

It's Naveen.

"Hey, Elsa", he greets with a small finger wave.

The tips of my hair stiffen with ice. I dig my nails into my palms, annoyed at the barrier my gloves provide. "Hey, Naveen."  
He slides into the seat, Merida's seat, beside me. He reeks of expensive cologne and something sweet. It's nauseating. I close my eyes and turn away from him. Lunch is almost over, and Merida's yet to appear. I do a frantic scan of the lunchroom and feel my pulse quicken when I find she's missing.

"She's not coming", he voices, picking his nails. I watch him, something uneasy crawling from my belly as he continues. "She's making up a quiz for World History. Which gives us just enough time to have a little chat."

"A chat", I ask nervously.

"Your little crush on Merida? It's cute." His attention is still on his fingernails, but mine is firmly concentrated on his face. He smirks to himself. "But you're in over your head."  
"I don't know what you're talking about."  
"Save it for the choir, Verglas. You're not convincing anyone." Naveen looks up, and the coldness in his eyes tickles the ice beneath my skin. It pierces my gloves, and I quickly shove my hands behind me.

"Merida and I are only friends", I insist futilely.

"Obviously", he sneers. "And that's all you're ever gonna be. She's not a dyke, and she doesn't go for creepy nobodies like you."

I close my eyes and try to lose myself in the chatter around us. It doesn't work. "I'm not trying to do anything", I eventually respond. "I just want to be her friend. That's all. I swear."

"Sure." He clears his throat, and his tone brightens. "Hey, Merida! We were just talking about you."  
I open my eyes and look up. Merida takes a seat in front of us and grins. "Well, I hope that's a good thing."  
"Oh, it's definitely a good thing", Naveen replies, wiggling his eyebrows.

The five water fountains scattered throughout the large lunchroom burst, and shards of ice erratically shoot out. Screams and cries of panic erupt from the hundreds of bodies occupying the room as they hurry to find cover. A stray shard strikes me across the face. I stumble backward and raise my hand to my cheek. It comes back coated in blood.

"Elsa!"

A hand wraps around mine and tugs me to the floor. The blood on my hand makes me slip, but I eventually manage to crawl underneath my table without hurting myself too badly. Merida's eyes are wide, confused, and absolutely terrified. Something pricks at the back of my neck. I think it's another shard, but when I move to brush my fingers over the spot, they come back clean.

"What the hell was that", Merida asks in a panicked voice.

No one answers her. Around us, the terrified screams continue and rise as the kitchen sink erupts and spits icicles at the few people who haven't taken shelter beneath the tables. I shove my hands into my armpits and watch dozens of pairs of feet stumble to hide. To my right, Naveen's holding and consoling Merida, gently whispering assurances to her.

The screams intensify, and I rest my bloody hand against the floor, watching helplessly as something hellish and wicked seeps from within me and terrorizes the place I'd just begun to like.

. . .

"I've called your parents. They're not happy."

I tug my comforter closer to me and look up. Humphrey's expression is somber and somewhat disappointed. In his hands, he carries a mug of something steaming.

"Right", I whisper, accepting the mug without protest. The heat absorbs some of the cold in my hands, and I both welcome and hate the sensation. I raise the cup to my lips. Hot chocolate.

Well, warm chocolate now.

"Are they coming home", I ask. My voice is hopeful, wavering with the certainty of the answer. One glance at Humphrey quickly extinguishes that hope. I take a long sip, then ask, "What did they say?"  
"Not much." He reaches for the bottle of Hydrogen peroxide and sprays some onto a rag. "They're worried, naturally but...well, you know how your parents are." He raises the rag to my cut and gently presses against it. It stings a little, but it's a fairly vague sensation. Everything feels numb, and I should probably be worried that that doesn't scare me.

"Busy", I say to the ceiling. There's a fresh layer of snow settled over my room, and spikes of ice jut out from the walls. Humphrey has the heat cranked to the max. We're both sweating like we're in a sauna, and my carpet is soaked. It's been like this since I got back: the ice melts and retreats back into me for a while, then comes back at full force. If Humphrey's stooped shoulders and drooping eyes are anything to go by, it's as exhausting to him as it is to me.

"Elsa", he sighs.

"It's fine. I get it." The steam from my mug disappears, and the hot chocolate solidifies. I scowl and set the mug on my nightstand. "They have very important jobs. I won't jeopardize that."

"They love you, Elsa", Humphrey states with sad eyes. "They're just...distracted is all."

Scared. He means scared.

Mom and Dad have been gone for a while now. When I was younger, they'd only be gone for a few weeks at a time. Then I hurt Anna, and those weeks turned into months. Then those months turned into years. And then I stopped counting, only noting their absence when their existence was occasionally acknowledged. It's kind of hard to believe, but it's been six years since I last saw them. Whenever anyone asks, I just say they're on an extended business trip because that's what Humphrey's always told me; I don't actually know what they're doing, but I do know business has nothing to do with it.

"It's been months since your last incident and years since one this intense", Humphrey's saying. He's watching me warily, like he isn't sure he should be speaking. I shrink into my comforter and try to bring some warmth into my hands. "Did something trigger this?"  
I groan and pull my knees close to me.

"Elsa?"

"It's dumb", I mutter. The puff of white I expel as I speak tells me I'm freezing, but I feel heat returning to my body as I recall the cause of the disaster at lunch.

The bed creaks and sinks as Humphrey sits down beside me. He grips my shoulder gently. "It's okay. It's just me."

I curl in on myself. Humphrey's been the only constant in my life, the one person I could always count on. When Mom and Dad left, even when I was little, he was always there to look after me. When they left for good a few years back, he adamantly reminded me of their love for me and frequently told me they'd be home soon. And when I finally realized the truth, he was the one who reassured me that nothing was wrong with me, that I was just different. He'd seen me at my worst, and this most definitely was not it.

"I like somebody."

Humphrey remains quiet for a while, and I pull my comforter back. He looks conflicted, torn between laughing and staring at me quizzically. "You like someone?"  
"Well, yeah."  
"I'm not seeing the issue here."  
"Well, someone else likes them, and I don't like that", I clarify. It sounds silly to my ears, but Humphrey just shakes his head.

"Ah. Well, that's normal. Everyone gets jealous."  
"I know." I lean back into my multitude of pillows and sigh. "But I don't like it."

"Yeah, but that's to be expected. Especially with someone of your condition." He falls quiet again before he eventually asks, "Is it about that young lady you've been talking to?"  
The entire room freezes over, and the light-bulb in my bedside lamp explodes. Humphrey shields his eyes, stands up, and bends to scoop the glass into his hand. His bones creak as he does this, and I can't help but think he's getting too old to be taking care of a walking catastrophe like me. He's only fifty-six, hardly old by any definition, but the worry's still there.

"Yeah", I admit, watching as he dumps the glass into the garbage can behind my door. "Merida. She's...she's cool."  
Humphrey nods and returns to my bed. "Have you considered telling her?"  
"Yeah. But I'm not sure if I should."  
"Why not?"  
I stare at him incredulously. "Because I'm me."  
"And? She seems nice. If she likes you as a friend, there's always the chance she likes you as more."  
"That's a bit of a stretch, Humphrey."  
He smiles sadly. "You don't give yourself enough credit, Elsa."

I stare at the chipped paint on my toes and reach to pick at my cuticles. "I can't lose her, too", I explain. The purple paint sticks underneath my fingernails, and I pick at them until it eventually comes free. "She's the best thing that's happened to me in a long time. What if I tell her, and she doesn't like me back?" What if I tell her, and Naveen finds out?  
"Then at least you know you tried. I don't know a lot about your condition, but I do know that repressing how you feel is never a good thing. It's probably why you lashed out so badly today. How long have you liked her?"

I blush and think of my sketchbook. It has 8,000 pages, and I've been using it since the sixth grade. "A few years."

Humphrey's eyes widen. "Oh. Wow."  
"Yeah."  
"Well, uh, that doesn't change matters." He stares at my cut, and his expression darkens. "I won't tell you what to do. You've still some issues to sort through, but you're growing each time I see you"- he holds up a hand when I begin to protest- "and I know you'll do what you feel is best for everyone. Just try to keep your own interests in mind as well. Okay?"

I rub my fingers over my gloves. And I think of Merida, who, after the fiasco at lunch, walked me home and sat on my front porch until Humphrey came home. And I think of Naveen, who sent me a hateful glare as he watched us exit the building. And I think of me and how badly I want to hold Merida.

And how lovely something like that would look in watercolor.

"I'll think about it", I say with a heavy sigh. "It's not just about me, so I have be careful."

Humphrey nods. "Is it anything I should be worried about?"  
I sigh and curl into a ball, pulling my comforter tight around me. The ice above me has begun to melt again. Small raindrops plop onto my forehead, but I don't move to brush them away. "Not really. I don't know. It's, ah, a recent development. I'm not really sure what I should expect."

"All right, then. If anything should happen-"  
"I'll let you know", I say with a small smile.

He flicks the remaining light off. Darkness settles over me like a second blanket, and I allow it to envelope me without apprehension.

"Night Elsa."  
"Night Hemphrey."

I look out the window and watch the orange-pinkish clouds hovering behind the glass pane. The moon isn't visible tonight, but I can still make out its faint outline through the soft texture of the sky. It becomes a struggle to keep my eyes open, and, after a few restless hours, I fall asleep.

. . .

School is dreadfully quiet and dismal.

Which, of course, makes sense. Half of the school is still hospitalized, and a third of the school was too afraid to even come today. It's like walking through a crime scene after the evidence has been collected and everything put back in its proper place. The few brave souls who ventured to school today are jumpy and huddle together in bundles like rookeries of penguins coming together to fight against the bitter cold and vicious winds.

Given these circumstances, I guess it's both cruel and generous that Naveen chose today to pull his little stunt. It's obviously at my expense, but it gives everyone else something to talk about, something to laugh about, and I suppose I deserve that.

I don't even notice my sketchbook is missing until I see him flipping through it as he stands on the front steps of the school. My veins turn thick and pulse as ice pellets fill my bloodstream. A small crowd's gathered beneath him, and the image strikes me as ominously religious. Like a savior preaching to the masses after a crippling cataclysm, offering words of encouragement to all those afflicted. Naveen turns my sketchbook towards the crowd, towards me, and I watch, petrified, as an incomplete sketch of Merida is revealed to everyone present. Like I said, nearly eighty percent of the school is out today. But Elite High is a rather large school, so there's still three hundred or so students left. And as word travels of what's occurring on the front steps, all three hundred of them pour from within the building.

"Oh, hey, Elsa", Naveen calls obnoxiously. He rips a page out of my book and snickers at something. "I'll give you one thing. These aren't half bad. For a stalker."  
The crowd roars with laughter. Fingers from all angles extend towards me, and I stumble backwards and onto my butt. The laughter rises, expanding and intensifying as people continue to arrive. They stumble towards Naveen, making grabby hands at the leather book. He smirks at the attention and slowly descends the steps. The crowd parts just enough to allow him to approach me without bumping into anyone.

A bandage has been plastered across what appears to be a long, deep gash across his forehead. It's been soiled with blood and needs to be changed.

It's almost scary that this amuses me more than it disgusts me.

"Just to give you incentive", Naveen explains after I've stared cluelessly at him for a good minute. "You didn't quite seem to get my message yesterday." Then, in a louder voice, "Exactly how long have you been creeping on Merida?"

Naveen has everyone collapsing over themselves in laughter. Jasmine's clutching her stomach, bending over as a trail of tears streams from her eyes. Adam's fallen to the ground and is struggling to catch his breath. Philllip's leaning on Snow's shoulder, unable to support himself, and she's covering her mouth as she shyly giggles. Naveen's still standing above me, and my position from the ground makes the whole thing all the more terrifying.

"I'm pretty sure this is more than enough evidence for her to file for a restraining order", he continues, pleased with the fresh round of laughter the comment produces.

I should stop this. I should explain. I should lie. I should do something, anything, but every time I open my mouth to say something, the words get lost in the tumult around me.

"Knock it off, Naveen", a voice eventually shouts. The noise instantly dies down, and everyone turns to the voice.

It's Merida. Everything about her screams anger. Her expression is enraged, her hands are balled into fists at her sides, and she's leaning forward on an arch, ready to pounce on anyone that happens to say the wrong thing.

"I'm just doing you a favor", Naveen deflects, waving his hand. He flips through my book some more and chuckles. "Hey, look at this. You're not gonna believe the kind of freaky shit she's-"

"I know, I know", she interrupts irritably. "I've seen it."

He frowns. His arms drop, and my book dangles limply in his hand. "You have?"

"Of course. It's a deal of ours. She was having a hard time with live models, and I wanted to help."

Murmurs of confusion rise from everyone. I stare into Merida's eyes, trying and failing to understand. From the befuddled expression upon her own face, I assume the feeling's mutual.

"You agreed to this", Naveen asks skeptically. He crosses his arms over his chest and considers her in deep scrutiny.

"Yes, I believe I just said that." She waves me in her direction. I crawl from my spot on the ground and quickly rush up the stairs, my head lowered. When I make it to the top, Merida grips my arm tightly and drags me back into the school.

"Merida", I say, struggling not to trip over my feet. "Merida, where-where are we going? And what was that? Aren't you mad? Why'd you help me? Your nails are really sharp, and I-"  
"Be quiet", Merida hisses, turning to face me just as eager voices echo from down the hallway. She looks around us, then snatches my hand and pushes me into the janitor's closet.

"Oh, for fuck's sake", she grumbles. Something clatters to the ground and spills on my feet. I jump backwards and crash into a shelf, causing a bucket of rags and a bottle of something to come crashing down on my head. The lights flicker on, and Merida crouches beside me.

"You're quite the troublemaker, you know that", she says.  
"That's certainly one way of putting it", I retort. I turn to return the items to the shelf but falter when I notice it's collapsed. I purse my lips, then turn back to Merida. Feet scattering outside the door remind me of why we're even here, and I promptly drop my gaze to my lap.

"John heard about Naveen's little show", Merida says when she realizes I'm not going to speak. "The little weasel tweeted about it. I left my phone at home, but John had his. He had to take a test in Calc, so he told me, and here I am."  
I keep my attention on my lap but smile. "Well, I guess I owe him then...And you."  
"Ah, you don't owe him anything. He was just...not being a dick, which a lot of people here seem incapable of doing." Her tone darkens as she nears the end of her sentence, and I close my eyes before the next one drifts from her lips. "I, on the other hand, would like something in return."  
"And that something would be?"  
"An explanation maybe? Look, I won't judge because I don't know what any of this is about, but you've gotta give me something."  
"There's nothing to explain. I...like drawing you. That's all there is to it."

"Don't bullshit me, El. Tell me what's going on."

When I remain quiet, she sighs and scoots closer. Her shoulder brushes against mine, and I immediately withdraw.

"Elsa", Merida sighs. Then, uncertainty laced in her words, she asks, "Do you...Do you like me?"

My eyes shoot open, and I jump to my feet. I rush for the door, only to be stopped by Merida latching onto my arm again.

"Let go", I demand, halfheartedly wrestling to get out of her grasp. Her hand is hot, and it feels nice against my frigid skin, and I don't want that heat to leave, I don't want her to leave, I want her close, I want to breathe her in, I want to trap her in my ribcage like an exotic bird for my eyes and my eyes only because she's the most dazzling, wonderful thing I've ever seen, and I can't let her go.

Maybe I am a stalker.

"Elsa", Merida whispers. Her fingers slip down my arm and into mine, interlacing them until I have to look at our nail polish to distinguish them. Her other hand comes up to my cheek and tenderly traces her finger over my cut. "Look at me."

And I do.

"Why do you draw me", she asks.

I look down at our hands, then look back up. I lean forward to press my forehead against hers and hold my breath. "Cause."

"Come on, use your words." She smiles, and my eyes are instantly drawn to her lips. "I'm not a mind-reader, you know."

"Cause...Cause every time I see you, you get a little more beautiful. And I'm not sure you're always gonna be around. This way, when you're gone, I'll still have a small part of you with me."  
Merida closes her eyes and remains quiet for so long, the bell for detention rings. She doesn't let go of my hand, though, so I don't move. I just stay there, with our hands intertwined and our foreheads touching and my cheek and her fingers colliding, and marvel at the alluring creature standing in front of me.

Eons pass before she eventually replies. The pressure on my cheek lessens and travels down to my chin. "Who says I'm leaving", Merida breathes before tilting her head to the side and pressing her lips against mine. Her eyelids flutter closed during the kiss, but mine remain open, eagerly drinking in the relaxed, blissful expression on her face. And for once in my life, I feel truly and inexplicably warm.

It's nice.

. . .

I never get my sketchbook back, but that's okay. Merida buys me a new one and, with a wink, assures me I'll find the inspiration to fill it.

And I do.


End file.
